Читать книгу The Two First Centuries of Florentine History - Pasquale Villari - Страница 5

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The history of every Italian republic may be divided into two chief periods: the origin of the commune, the development of its constitution and its liberties. In the first period, during which an old state of society is decaying and a new one arising, it is hard to distinguish the history of any one commune from that of the rest, inasmuch as it treats of Goths, Longobards, Greeks, and Franks, who dominate the greater part of Italy in turn, reducing the country, almost throughout its extent, to identical conditions. The position of conquerors and of conquered is everywhere the same, only altered by change of rulers. Amid the obscurity of the times and scarcity of information, there seems scarcely any difference between one Italian city and another. But differences are more clearly defined, and become increasingly prominent after the first arisal of freedom. Most obscure, though not of earliest date, was perhaps the origin of Florence, which tarried long before beginning to rise to importance. Our present purpose being merely to throw light on the history of the Florentine Constitution, we need not devote many words to the first period mentioned above—namely, of the origin of Italian communes in general. At one time this question was the theme of a learned, lengthy, and most lively dispute, chiefly carried on by Italian and German writers. But the scientific severity of researches, in which Italian scholars won much honour, was often impaired by patriotism and national prejudice. It being recognised that the origin of the Commune was likewise the origin of modern liberty and society, the problem was tacitly transformed into another question—i.e., whether Italians or Germans were the first founders of these liberties, this society? It is easy to understand how political feelings were then imported into the controversy, and effectually removed it from the ground of tranquil debate.

Towards the end of the last century the question was often discussed in Italy by learned men of different views, such as Giannone, Maffei, Sigonio, Pagnoncelli, &c. Muratori, though lacking any prearranged system, threw powerful flashes of light on the subject, and raised it to higher regions by force of his stupendous learning. But the dispute did not become heated until Savigny took up the theme in his renowned "History of Roman Law in the Middle Ages." In endeavouring to prove the uninterrupted continuity of the said jurisprudence, he was obliged—inasmuch as all historical events are more or less connected together—to maintain that the Italians, when subject to barbarian and even to Longobard rule, lost neither all their personal liberty nor their ancient rights, and that the Roman Commune was never completely destroyed. Accordingly, the revival of our republics and of Roman law was no more than a renewal of old institutions and laws which had never entirely disappeared. Germany was quick to see to what conclusions the ideas of our great historian tended, and thereupon Eichorn, Leo, Bethmann, Karl Hegel, and others, rose up in arms against the theory of the Italian Commune being of Roman birth. They maintained, on the contrary, that the barbarians, and more especially the Longobards, whose domination was harsher and more prolonged than the rest, had stripped us of all liberty, destroyed every vestige of Roman institutions, and that, consequently, the new communes and their statutes were of new creation, and originally derived from Germanic tribes alone.

To all appearance these views should have stirred Italian patriotism to furious opposition, and made Savigny's ideas universally popular among us. Yet this was not the case. We supplied many learned adherents to either side. At that time our national feeling had just awakened; we already desired—nay, claimed—a united Italy, no matter at what cost, and detested everything that seemed opposed to our unity. Well, the Longobards had been on the point of mastering the whole of Italy, and the Papacy alone had been able to arrest their conquests by securing the aid of the Franks. But for this, even the Italy of the ninth or tenth century might have become as united a country as France. Already the school of thinkers had been revived among us that, even in Machiavelli's day, had regarded the Pope as the fatal cause of Italy's divisions. Therefore, naturally enough, while confuting Savigny's views, our nineteenth-century Ghibellines exalted the Longobards, ventured to praise their goodness and humanity, and hurled invectives against the Papacy for having prevented their general and permanent conquest of Italy. But, on the other hand, there was also a political school that looked to the Pope as the future saviour of Italy, and this school, prevailing later on during the revolution of 1848, adopted the opposite theory, and possessed two most illustrious representatives in Manzoni and Carlo Troya. At any rate, they had little difficulty in proving that barbarians had been invariably barbaric, killing, destroying, and trampling down all things, and that the Papacy, by summoning the Franks, no matter for what end, had certainly rendered some help to the harshly oppressed masses. The Franks, in fact, gave some relief to the Latin population, sanctioned the use of Roman law and granted new powers to Popes and bishops, who undoubtedly contributed to the revival of the communes. Thus, although for opposite ends, identical opinions were maintained on both sides of the Alps. Throughout this controversy learning was always subordinated to political aims, although the disputants may not have been always aware of it; and historic truth and serenity consequently suffered unavoidable hurt. Balbo, Capponi, and Capei, after throwing their weight on this side or that, ended by holding very temperate views, and their teachings cast much light on the point at issue.

The main difficulty proceeds from the fact that few persons are willing to believe that in the Middle Ages, as well as throughout modern history, we can always trace the continuous reciprocal action of the Latin and German races, and that it is impossible to award the merit of any of the chief political, social, or literary revolutions exclusively to either. On the contrary, wherever the absolute predominance of one of the two races seems most undoubted, we have to tread with most caution, and seek to discover what share of the work was due to the other. Likewise, in order to justly weigh and determine their reciprocal rights in history, impartial narrative would have a better chance of success than any system based on political ideas. Assuredly, when facts are once thoroughly verified, no system is needed, since general ideas result naturally from facts. Were it allowable to introduce here a comparison with far younger times, we might remark that when French literature invaded Germany in the eighteenth century it obtained general imitation there, and unexpectedly led to the revival of national German literature. In order to glorify the national tone of this literature, would it be necessary to maintain that the great previous diffusion of French writings was only imagined by historians? Later, the French flag was flaunted in nearly every city of Germany, and the people humiliated and crushed. From that moment we see the national German spirit springing to vigorous life. Must we say that this revival was due to the French? Is it not better to describe events as they occurred, rejecting all foregone conclusions? I am quite aware of the abyss between these recent events and those of old days; but, nevertheless, I consider that Balbo was right in remarking that the fact of the origin of the communes being disputed at such length and with so much heat and learning by the two rival schools, proved that the truth was not confined exclusively to either. Accordingly, we will rapidly sum up the conclusions we deem the most reasonable.

Every one knows that, after the earlier barbarian descents, by which the Empire was devastated, and Rome itself frequently ravaged, Italy endured five real and thorough invasions. Odoacer, with his mercenary horde, composed of men of different tribes, but generally designated as Heruli, was the leader who dealt the mortal blow in 476, and becoming master of Italy for more than ten years, scarcely attempted to govern it, and only seized a third of the soil. But a new host poured in from the banks of the Danube, commonly styled Goths, and subdivided into Visigoths and Ostrogoths. The former division, commanded by Alaric, had already besieged and sacked Rome; the latter, led by Theodoric, appeared in 489, and speedily subjected all Italy. Theodoric's reign was highly praised. The chiefs of these early barbarian tribes had often served for many years in Roman legions, and had sometimes been educated in Rome. Accordingly they felt a genuine admiration for the majesty of the very empire that the heat of victory now urged them to destroy. Theodoric organised the government; and, according to the barbarian custom, seized a third of the land for his men; but he left the Romans their laws and their magistrates. In every province a count was at the head of the government, and held jurisdiction over the Ostrogoths. The Romans were ruled according to their own laws, and these laws administered by a mixed tribunal of both races. But Theodoric's government became gradually harsher and more intolerable to the Romans, so that, after his death, they revolted against his successors, and invoked the aid of the Greeks of the Eastern Empire. But revolt brought them nothing save increased suffering, inasmuch as the Goths began to murder the Romans in self-defence, deprived them of what liberty and institutions they had been allowed to retain, and organised a military and absolute government. This was the government Belisarius and Narses found established on coming from Constantinople to deliver and reconquer Italy; this was the government they copied with their dukes, or duces. The Ostrogoths had ruled Italy for fifty-nine years (493–552), and the Greeks held it for sixteen more (552–568). Theirs also was a purely martial government, under the General-in-chief Narses, but with dukes, tribunes, and inferior judges nominated by the Empire. As usual, the newcomers appropriated a share of the soil, and probably this share now went to the State. Their tyranny was different from that of the barbarians, but it was the tyranny of corrupt rulers, and therefore more cruel. The Greeks had expelled the Goths, and next came the Longobards to drive out the Greeks. They gradually extended their conquests, and in fifteen years became masters of three-fourths of Italy, leaving only a few strips of land, mainly near the sea, to the Greeks whom they never succeeded in expelling altogether. The Longobards struck deep roots in Italian soil, and dwelt on it for more than two hundred years (568–773), ruling in a very harsh and tyrannous fashion. They took a third of the land, reduced the Italians almost to slavery, and respected neither Roman laws nor Roman institutions. Beneath their sway the ancient civilisation seemed annihilated, and the germs of a newer one were prepared, although its first budding forth is still involved in much obscurity. Every controversy as to the origin of our communes started from inquiries into the condition of the Italians under the Longobard rule. If ancient tradition were at any time really broken off and replaced by a totally new one, it must have occurred under that rule. Or, if it only underwent a great change before assuming new life and vigour at a later time, the process must have dated from the same period.

Nevertheless, wherever the Byzantine domination had obtained, a feebler and more vacillating government weighed less cruelly on the people; therefore, as early as the seventh and eighth centuries, certain cities were seen to develop new life. The Commune speedily took shape, even in Rome, where the power of the Papacy, hostile to the Longobards, had greatly increased. On first coming among us, these barbarians of the Arian creed respected neither the Catholic bishops, the minor clergy, nor anything sacred or profane, and later on menaced the Eternal City itself. Accordingly, as a means of defence against the threatening enemy at his gates, the Pontiff summoned the Franks to save the Church and country from oppression. They came in obedience to this call, led first by Pepin and then by Charlemagne, who, driving out the Longobards, and fortifying the Papacy by grants of land, enabled the Pope to inaugurate his temporal dominion. In reward for this Charlemagne was crowned emperor; and thus the ancient Empire of the West was re-established by the new Empire of the Franks, to which the Holy Roman-Germanic Empire afterwards succeeded.

Thereupon the dissolution of barbarian institutions, already begun in Italy, proceeded at a more rapid pace. There was a ferment in Italian public life, heralding the approach of a new era. Institutions, usages, laws, traditions of all kinds—Longobard, Greek, Frankish, ecclesiastical, Roman—were found side by side and jumbled together. Next ensued a prolonged term of violence and turmoil, during which the name of Italy was scarcely heard. All old and new institutions seem at war, all struggling in vain for supremacy, when suddenly the Commune arises to solve the problem, and the era of freedom begins. But what gave birth to the Commune? This is the question by which we are always confronted.

It would be outside our present purpose to follow the learned scholars who have sought to deduce ingenious and complicated theories from some doubtful phrase in an old codex, or the vague words of some chronicler. It is certain that the Roman Empire was an aggregation of municipalities exercising self-government. The city was the primitive atom, the germ-cell, as it may be called, of the great Roman society that began to disperse when the capital lost the power of attraction required to bind together so great a number of cities separated by vast tracts of country either totally deserted, or only inhabited by the slaves cultivating the soil. The barbarians, on the other hand, knew nothing of citizen life, and the Gau or Comitatus (whence the term contado is derived), only comprising embryo towns, or rather villages, which were sometimes burnt when the tribes moved on elsewhere, resembled the primitive nucleus of Teutonic society. In the comitatus the count ruled and administered justice with his magistrates; the chiefs of the soldiery were his subordinates, and became barons later on. Several countships joined together formed the dukedoms or marquisates into which Italy was then divided, and the whole of the invading nation was commanded by a king elected by the people.

When, therefore, the Germanic tribes held sway over the Latin, the Gau held sway over the cities which indeed formed its constituents. And the counts, as military chieftains, ruled the conquered land, of which the victors appropriated one-third. The Goths pursued the same plan; so too the Greeks, who replaced all counts by their own duces; and so also the Longobards. Only the latter's rule was far more tyrannous, especially at first, and their history is very obscure. They began by slaughtering the richest and most powerful Romans; they seized one-third of the revenues, it would seem, instead of the lands, thus leaving the oppressed masses without any free property, and consequently in a worse condition than before. The Goths had permitted the Romans to live in their own way, but the Longobards respected no laws, rights, nor institutions of the vanquished race. On this head Manzoni remarks9 that no mention is found of any Italian personage, whether actual or imaginary, in connection with any royal office or public act of the time. Nevertheless, from absolute tyranny, and even downright subjection, to the total destroyal of every Roman law, right, and institution, there is a long step. In order to attribute to the Longobards—numbering, it is said, some 130,000 souls in all—the total extinction of Roman life in every direction, we must credit them with an administrative power, far too well ordered and disciplined, too steadfast and permanent, to be any way compatible with their condition. How could a tribe incapable of comprehending Roman life persecute it to extinction on all sides? Granting even, although this is another disputed point, that the Romans were deprived of all independent property; granting that Roman law was neither legally recognised nor respected by the Longobards, it by no means follows that every vestige of Roman law and civilisation was therefore destroyed at the time. Far more just and credible seems the opinion of other writers who have maintained that when the Longobards descended into Italy they thought chiefly of their own needs, made no legal provision for the Italians, and were satisfied with keeping them in subjection.10 Thus, in all private concerns, and in matters beyond the grasp of the barbarian administration, the conquered people could continue to live according to the Roman law and in pursuance of ancient customs. In fact, Romans and Longobards lived on Italian soil as two separate nations; the fusion of victors and vanquished, so easy elsewhere, is seen to have been difficult in Italy, even after the lapse of two centuries. So great is the tenacity and persistence of the Latin race among us, that it is easier to reduce the conquered to slavery, or extirpate them altogether, than to deprive them of their individuality. In fact, whenever, by the force of things, and by long intercourse, conquerors and conquered come into closer contact, the barbarians are unavoidably driven to make large concessions to the Latin civilisation, which even when apparently extinguished is always found to have life. How explain otherwise the gradual yielding of Longobard law to the pressure of Roman law; how explain the new species of code that gradually took shape, and was styled by Capponi an almost Roman edifice built upon Germanic foundations?

As the Longobards became more firmly established in Italy, they began to inhabit the cities which they had been unable to entirely destroy; they also began to covet real property, and accordingly, during the reign of their king Autari, instead of a third of the revenues, seized an even larger proportion of the land. This measure aggravated the condition of the vanquished on the one hand, but greatly improved it on the other, by leaving them in possession of some independent property.11 And although, as Manzoni observed, we find no royal officials, great or small, of Roman blood, it is no less certain that the Longobards, having need of mariners, builders, and artisans, were obliged to make use of Romans and their superior skill in those capacities. It was in this way that the ancient scholae, or associations of craftsmen, continued to survive throughout the Middle Ages, as we know to have been the case with the magistri comacini, or Guild of Como Masons, to whose skill the conquering race had frequent recourse. In however rough and disorderly a fashion these associations contrived to withstand the barbarian impact, they were certainly an element of the old civilisation, and kept the thread of it unbroken. Other remains and traditions of that same civilisation also clung about them; and when every other form of government or protecting force was lacking to the inhabitants of cities, these associations guarded the public welfare to some extent. Do we not find that an ancient municipality, when first left to its own resources, sometimes closed the city gates against the barbarians, and defended itself, almost after the manner of an independent state? Was it not sometimes successful in repulsing the foe? Even when conquered, trampled, and crushed, can we suppose it to have been destroyed everywhere alike, or so thoroughly cancelled from the memory of the Latins, that, on seeing it reappear, we must attribute its resurrection to Germanic tribes, to whom all idea of a city was unknown until they had invaded our soil? Did not the resuscitation of the Greek cities of Southern Italy begin as far back as the seventh and eighth centuries—namely, in the time of the Longobards—and assuredly without the help of Germanic traditions? Did not the Roman Commune arise at the same period? And if the ancient municipalities, fallen beneath the Longobard yoke, and therefore more cruelly oppressed, delayed almost four centuries longer, did they not also follow the example of their fellow-cities at last? What is the meaning of the widely spread tradition, that only in that paragon of independent, free republics, Byzantine Amalfi, were preserved the Roman Pandects, which were then captured by Pisa, and cherished as her most valued treasure? Does not the whole subsequent history of the Commune consist of the continual struggle of the re-born Latin race against the descendants of Teuton hordes? If Latin civilisation had been utterly destroyed, how came it that the dead could rise again to combat the living? Therefore, it seems clear to us that, although the Longobards accorded no legal rights to the conquered people, they could not practically deprive them of all; they either tolerated or were unaware of many things, and the tradition, usage, and persistence of the race kept alive some remnants of Latin civilisation. Thus alone can it be explained how, after enduring a harsh and long-continued tyranny that apparently destroyed everything, no sooner were a few links snapped off the strong, barbaric chain, by which the Italian population was so straitly bound, than Latin institutions sprang to new life, and regained all the ground they had lost.

Barbarian society, both in form and tendency, was essentially different from the Latin. Its predominant characteristic was the so-called Germanic individualism, as opposed to the Latin sociability. We note a prevalent tendency to divide into distinct and separate groups. As a body, it no sooner lost the force of cohesion and union induced by the progress and rush of conquest, than it immediately began to be scattered and disintegrated. Owing to their nomadic and savage life, as well as to the blood in their veins, the barbarians seemed to have inherited an exaggerated personality and independence, making it difficult for them to submit for long to a common authority. Thus, when peace was established, germs of enfeebling discord soon appeared among them. In fact, when the Longobards had completed the conquest of nearly the whole of Italy, they divided the land into thirty-six Duchies, governed by independent dukes enjoying absolute rule in their respective territories. Under the dukes were sometimes counts, residing in cities of secondary importance, and at the head of the comitati; while still smaller cities were often ruled by a sculdascius, or bailiff. Both dukes and bailies administered justice according to the Longobard code, together with the assistant judges, who, under the Franks, developed into scabini, or sheriffs. Little by little military leaders gained possession of the strongholds, and subsequently became almost independent chiefs. Then, too, the royal officials, styled gasindi, likewise exercised great power. And even as the dukes finally asserted their independence from the king, so counts and sculdasci sought emancipation from the ducal sway, although without immediate success. In the first century, after the conquest, there was no law, no recognised protection for the vanquished, nor was the authority of the bishops and clergy in any way respected. The history of the Longobard rule shows it to have been so tremendously oppressive as to apparently crush the very life of the people, so that even at the most favourable moments no serious revolts were attempted. Even the example of the free cities in the South failed to excite them.